


What You Gave

by BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn/pseuds/BeLiEVeRiNrAnDOmCApiTaliZatiOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You click on the telly and down three shots in quick succession. The booze dulls the pain in your stomach and you close your eyes and pretend that you’re happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Gave

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "What You Gave" by Black Prairie (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFb0xMiTLmY)

_When you’re home_

_TV on with vacant eyes_

_Ashes burn down_

_A child cries_

 

_What do you want?_

_I can’t stand the taste of it in my mouth_

_All I want from you is one more song_

 

_In the evening lately_

_In the evening lately_

_I’ve been needing more than what you gave me_

 

It was a shoddy apartment. You knew that. Knew it was dirty and small and not the place Arthur would choose to settle. But it was in the price range – just for a couple years – and you liked it, you seemed to fit. Arthur was never quite at home, and that worried you. When you were younger, he would’ve cupped your chin in his hand when your eyebrows tilted together in that concerned, pensive way, and told you “it’s fine, Eames. Comfortable. Don’t worry. I love it. I love you.”

But Arthur didn’t do that anymore.

Arthur didn’t even touch you anymore.

The brunette is outside, smoking and glaring at a woman across the way who couldn’t seem to quiet her baby. You watch him, watch his slumped shoulders and wrinkled eyebrows. He slides the cigarette between his beige lips and there’s a taste like iron in the back of your throat. You’ve forgotten what that mouth feels like. It’s been much too long. Now Arthur prefers the taste of smoke.

You click on the telly and down three shots in quick succession. The booze dulls the pain in your stomach and you close your eyes and pretend that you’re happy.

 

_What did we do?_

_I was on the road to nowhere_

_And the only way to save you is let go_

 

_So what do you want?_

_I can’t stand the taste of it in my mouth_

_All I need from you is one more song_

 

_In the evening lately_

_In the evening lately_

_I’ve been needing more than what you gave me_

 

You leave him because that’s the only way there is. It’s clear that neither of you are happy here and so you pack and meet him at the door one day, when he’s coming home from work, cigarette stuck limply in between his lips. It falls when he sees you. It smoulders on the Welcome mat and you look down at it because, oh, now he is shattering and his sharp-edged pieces fly out and shred you. He calls you names and you think that’s fair enough, because it’s cruel of you to do this, to leave him in this empty apartment that he hates, with a twin-sized mattress that doesn’t even smell like you because you’ve been sleeping on the couch for months. It doesn’t matter that you’ve forgotten the feel of the curves of his body, or that all you want to do when you see him is cry. It doesn’t give you the right to leave.

You do it anyway.

He is grabbing you and for a second, just one glorious second, you think he will kiss you. Kiss you like he used to, all heat and passion, in that immaculate way that is all Arthur. And then it will be okay. But he does not kiss you. His strikes you across the face and you burn in shame.

You say his name and it comes out like a prayer. You apologize, and he slaps it from your lips. His fingers taste like nicotine.

The dip between his mouth and his chin is mesmerizing. You stare and remember how it used to be, how your lip fit perfectly into the concavity and how his tongue had pierced through you, had left you electrified. You wonder if he remembers too ... Frantically mussed hair and the slide of skin on skin. How could that have just left? How could that have been forgotten?

He’s staring at you staring and he runs a nervous tongue over his lip. Unconsciously, you return the gesture. He’s flipping through expressions, like he doesn’t know what to feel, but underneath it all, there’s pain. And you decide you’ve both had enough pain, so you try to make the final cut.

“Arthur,” you say, and your voice is rough. “I just ... can’t.”

And he nods, like he understands, because he can’t either. Because maybe this had been built to last, but something went wrong halfway through, and now you’re both crumbling. You wonder if it’s possible to be happy again. Right now, it doesn't seem so.

He gives up, goes limp like a man who is drowning and has atoned himself to the idea of death. He does not cry, but you do, and it’s bitter and shameful, low in your belly. You lean forward and kiss him, and his lips are alien. They are chapped and cold and he tastes like cigarettes. 

Then you leave and you do not look back.

 

_In the evening lately_

_In the evening lately_

_In the evening lately_

_In the evening lately_

_I’ve been needing more than what you gave me_


End file.
